


(hold me close) sway me more

by extasiswings



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Introspection, M/M, Teasing, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: Alex likes to dance.It’s something Henry has always been vaguely aware of—his social media is never inappropriately scandalous, he’s still  the son of a president, but it’s very clear that he’s popular and charming and likes to have a good time, so there are splashes of clubs and parties and everything in between. So Henry knows Alex likes to dance.It’s just not until New Year’s Eve and the Young America Gala that he realizes the extent to which Alex dancing is nothing less than a calculated attempt by the universe to strike him dead.





	(hold me close) sway me more

Alex likes to dance. 

It’s something Henry has always been vaguely aware of—his social media is never inappropriately scandalous, he’s still the son of a president, but it’s very clear that he’s popular and charming and likes to have a good time, so there are splashes of clubs and parties and everything in between. So Henry knows Alex likes to dance. 

It’s just not until New Year’s Eve and the Young America Gala that he realizes the extent to which Alex dancing is nothing less than a calculated attempt by the universe to strike him dead. 

He’s drunk, they both are, and Henry thinks he should perhaps stop drinking because Alex is fucking gorgeous and his hips move like pure sin and Henry can’t stop _staring_ at his neck, his hair, his smile, the way those pants cling to his ass—

Fuck, Henry can’t even breathe he wants so badly and later—well, is it any wonder he kisses him? After putting up with all that sweet torture all night? It’s only a combination of a minor miracle and decades of disciplined control that at least meant he waited until they were outside. 

When he runs out after, runs away, pretends not to see any of the messages Alex sends him, it doesn’t actually help anything. Because he can still see Alex dancing every time he closes his eyes. He can still feel the ghost of Alex’s lips from when they kissed, remember the taste of his mouth—an objectively terrible mix of alcohols quite frankly, but it was still _Alex_ underneath it. And Henry wants, he wants, he wants.

(And a few weeks later, he _gets_.)

* * *

Alex likes to dance. But Henry doesn’t know how to dance like Alex—he grew up with instructors and lessons and learned how to _waltz_ , graceful but controlled. Always controlled, like so much of his life, like everything about his public persona. He has to be pushed, coaxed, cajoled into letting go, into letting himself feel the kind of freedom he hears when Alex tips his head back and laughs in the middle of a crowded room. 

Even once it’s all out in the open, when they have nothing to hide, it’s hard to shake twenty-three years of habit. NDAs and being photographed with women and wrenching his eyes away when they linger too long on men in public, always forced to worry about the _perception_. It’s a process, getting comfortable with it. 

So he watches, instead. For the most part. Watches Alex dance with Nora, with Pez, with June from whatever table they’ve taken over in whatever club—Henry can’t remember the name. But he watches—lets his eyes drink their fill as Alex’s hips swivel, as his face lights up, as his head tips back and a bead of sweat drips down his neck to vanish beneath his shirt. 

Henry wants to trace the path of it with his tongue. 

Alex looks back as Henry finishes off his drink, and he nearly chokes when Alex smirks and does something absolutely filthy. 

_Dance with me_ , Alex mouths, pouting when Henry bites back a smile and shakes his head. 

_Not right now._

He finishes Alex’s drink as well as he keeps watching, heat sparking low in his gut and spreading out all the way to his fingertips. He could join him. He could. But there’s something about the show, about meeting Alex’s eyes across a room and finding them hot and dark, knowing that’s because of him—that’s its own type of intoxication. 

(Not to mention the fact that he’s not entirely sure he could manage to touch Alex right now without dragging him into a dark corner and having him as many ways he could imagine, and there are still _some_ things they don’t need to be photographed doing even if they no longer have to hide.)

Henry pushes off from the table after another moment to escape to the bathroom. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he finishes washing his hands. 

_If you’re going to spend the entire night eyefucking me, you’d better be planning on actually getting your dick in me at some point. It’s rude to tease._

Henry closes his eyes for a moment before responding, tamping down hard on the instinctive urge to invite Alex to christen another public restroom. It’s a near thing. 

_And what do you call what you’ve been doing for the past hour?_ , he types back. 

_dancing ;)_

(Henry seriously considers reconsidering his decision to not have semi-public sex tonight.) 

“You’re a menace,” Henry says directly in Alex’s ear as he finally joins him on the dance floor, hands falling to Alex’s hips to pull them back against his. 

Alex rolls his head back onto Henry’s shoulder and grins, grinding back against the hardness in Henry’s jeans. 

“Got your attention though, didn’t it?”

Henry ducks his head and drags his teeth roughly across Alex’s pulse point. 

“You had that already,” he replies. “But now...” He drops his voice low enough that only Alex should be able to hear him over the music. “...now I want to take you home. And strip you down. And fuck you. What do you say, love?”

They’re close enough that Henry can feel Alex shiver, can feel his throat work as he swallows, see every one of his ridiculous eyelashes as they flutter. 

“How soon can we get there?”

Henry laughs and finds Alex’s hand, lacing their fingers, and pulls him out of the crowd.

* * *

In the morning, Henry stumbles downstairs to the smell of pancakes and the sound of soft music. In the kitchen, Alex moves in time with the music, humming under his breath. And that—oh, it’s just as nice as the night before, _better_ even because it’s their space, their private space, and Henry doesn’t have to share the moment with anyone. 

Henry watches for a second, but doesn’t stop there. He catches Alex’s wrist and kisses it, setting the spatula aside on the counter. 

“Dance with me?” He asks, and Alex’s answering grin is brilliant. 

“Thought you’d never ask, baby.”


End file.
